Far too often, Hong Kong is portrayed as a rather one-dimensional destination for visitors – a “world city” with shopping and dining, a little sightseeing, and more shopping and dining. Okay for a stopover between visiting some truly fascinating parts of Asia, but not somewhere you’d want to spend more than a day or two.

Yet Hong Kong has much to offer. There are beautiful beaches, gentle forest trails, challenging hill walks, South China villages, clusters of islands and islets, diverse wildlife including globally rare birds, corals and the world’s pinkest dolphins. Plus, of course, there’s the city itself – with gleaming skyscrapers, streets festooned with neon signs, neighbourhood markets and, yes, a host of shops, restaurants and bars.

To appreciate some of Hong Kong’s striking contrasts, ride up the Peak Tram, a cable railway that climbs the steep north slope of Hong Kong Island’s highest hill, Victoria Peak, often known simply as the Peak. The tram starts near the main business district, and high-rises seem to lean backwards as it ascends. Soon, there’s lush greenery on either side, and the tram arrives at the upper station, around 400 metres above sea level.

Bringing Back Ol' Blue Eyes 

Skidding through dark mud, I clutch a bamboo stem to pull myself up the faint trail, brushing through knee-high grass that’s still wet from overnight rain. Ahead of me, one of my traveling companions, Perfecto Balicao, is making fluid, easy progress, pausing only to use his machete to cut the thin branches overhanging the path. Below us lie steep fields of maize stubble, rolling farmland and grassy hillsides.
      We’re climbing a spur of Mount Sinaka, a squat hill on Mindanao in the southern Philippines where farmland gives way to scrub and rain forest, in search of one of the world’s most magnificent and endangered birds: the Philippine eagle, dubbed “the world’s noblest of flyers” by aviator Charles Lindbergh. Accompanied by biologist Jayson Ibanez, field research coordinator for the Philippine Eagle Foundation (PEF), I’m on a six-day expedition to investigate how the fate of this rare species intersects with the lives of farmers like Balicao.

High in the mountains of south-western China, can this be the real thing?  

As my plane descends through cloud in the northern corner of China’s Yunnan province, I see as good an omen for a journey as I’ve ever seen: the plane’s shadow is surrounded by a ring of rainbow colours. Buddha’s Aureole, the Chinese call this phenomenon, caused by water droplets in the cloud refracting light.

We drop through the white canopy, passing over farmhouses and fields as the plane lines up for landing. Walking to the arrivals hall, I see the lettering on the airport building: Shangri-La.